It's Not So Easy Loving Him
by FiRe0fLy0StAr
Summary: I felt him slipping before anyone else did..and yet I couldn't save him. I loved him..and yet he didn't love me. He killed me...and yet I didn't retaliate. Jonathan/ScarecrowxOC Please Review Guys!
1. Chapter 1

_**Fire: This idea came to me in the dead of night, so I hope you'll like  
this story as much as I do. Lol. **_  
His icy cold blue eyes bore into me like daggers, analyzing every aspect of my appearance and staring deep into my  
soul. I couldn't remember ever fearing something or someone, but as his bony, pale hand caressed my cheek, I trembled. His full,  
pink lips pressed against my own feverishly, the kiss was neither passionate nor loving, it was needy. He _needed _this; he _needed_ the release that came with slamming me, unforgivingly, against the cold, white-washed wall of his office. I whimpered as pain exploded in the extremities of my back. He covered my mouth and growled at me to stop. In all the times I had imagined intimacy with Jonathan Crane, I had never fantasized the sheer roughness and longing the blue eyed man projected.

For a moment, I allowed myself to fade back to reality, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filling my nostrils. I opened my eyes, and watched as a greasy, dirty man violated me in every possible way. I was not with Jonathan Crane, nor was I in a lush office. My body was pressed tightly to the brick wall of an alley way, the skin of my lower back slowly rubbing away as the man forced his way in and out of me violently. I cried out, but I knew it would do no good. This is what I get for denying the psychiatrist when he offered to walk me home. I should have known better. I should have allowed him, but it was too late for that now. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I realized this incident would only make me more undesirable in the willowy man's eyes. I had been screaming for what seemed like hours, and desperately trying to fight my attacker off to no avail. Finally, I gave up and attempted to imagine myself in a more desirable situation, but no matter what, I couldn't deny that I was being deflowered in a back alley in the Narrows of Gotham. I felt my lunch trying to make a second appearance, and swallowed hard, the vomit burning my esophagus as it was forced down. I felt bruises forming on my wrists where the burly criminal's hands held firmly, and blood trickling down the insides of my thighs. I was in more pain then one could imagine, but I couldn't find it in me to cry out of discomfort. I cried out of self-pity, and self-depreciation.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man finished and let me fall to the cold, hard ground. He ran off into the night, and left me there to die of embarrassment. I was ashamed, and hurt, and I felt a headache coming on. I was shaking violently, but somehow managed to push myself off of the ground. I collected my tattered clothing, and put it on in some concealing fashion. I hobbled the rest of the way home, stumbling up the stairs to my apartment when I got there.

I put the key in the lock and turned it, falling through my door almost drunkenly. I needed to shower, to get the smell of the disgusting man off of me and symbolically cleanse myself of his sickness. I was still too shocked for the severity of my situation to sink in, or to even go to the police. All I wanted was to get his stench off of me. I dropped to my knees and crawled to the bathroom, pushing the door open with trembling hands. I flicked on the bright, fluorescent light and clumsily turned on the shower. I ripped the ruined shirt from my body, discarding my skirt shortly after. I drug myself into the tub and laid on the porcelain floor of my shower pathetically, letting the scalding hot water pound down onto my raw flesh mercilessly. It stung the ripped flesh of my back, and filled the numerous cuts that littered my body with its' fiery rage, but I couldn't care less. I felt as if I were steaming away my worthlessness. That maybe, the boiling water would wash away the events of the night, and I would once again be pure, but I didn't see that happening. The longer I laid there, the worse I felt. I scrubbed my skin fervently, leaving it red and stinging when I was done. I would have to call off of work tomorrow, and that would make Jonathan unhappy, just another reason for him to never feel for me like I do for him. I suppose I am racking those up tonight.

I could feel my heart literally drop to my stomach the more I thought about my boss. Surely, he'd find out about what happened, and then what? The little chance I had with him would diminish and I would be left with a chest full of love but no one to give it to. I wasn't sure when I had fallen for the man, but over the past four years I had worked for him our relationship had gone from professional, to friends, to a completely one-sided romance. After all, he was a successful, wealthy, 26 year old psychiatrist. I was a middle-class, 22 year old personal assistant who only had a job at Arkham Asylum because her parents knew people. There was absolutely nothing about me that would impress him, and he'd made that quite clear over the past few months, but tonight…tonight he showed a bit of interest in my safety. He showed a bit of emotion toward me, and I shot it down…assuring that I would be fine and that I had walked through to Narrows plenty of times. Now, not only had I declined the closest thing to a date I had with him, but I lost the only thing I had to offer him..my virginity. I finished cleaning myself off, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around myself.

On shaking legs, I made my way to my bedroom and curled up in the middle of my bed, crying myself into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Fire: Thank you for all the nice reviews! I appreciate them! I think you all will enjoy this chapter(:**_

It had been a little over a week since I was assaulted in the Narrows, nine days to be exact, and I was already back to work. As I had suspected, Jonathan wasn't pleased that I had to call off, but after a heated conversation about his whereabouts that night with the GCPD, he understood.

I balanced his coffee in the crook of my left arm, a stack of files, a plate, and a fork occupied my hands, while my coffee sat precariously in the crook of my right arm. I grasped a Starbucks snack bag firmly between my teeth, along with a few envelopes. Pamela, the secretary that tended the front desk, waved and chuckled as I pushed the glass door leading to the psycho-pharmacology department open with my foot.

"Your first day back and he's already working you like a mule, Lil," she teased, pressing a button behind the desk to alert that I was here.

The brunette man opened the door to his office, holding it to allow me to stumble in. He closed it behind him, and turned the lock, a habit he'd picked up after an escaped inmate attempted to kill him.

I offered him my left arm, and he retrieved his coffee, taking mine from the other arm as well to lighten my load. He set the hot beverages down and then took the bag and envelopes out of my mouth, wiping the spit off on a handkerchief. I set the files and plate down on his desk, handing him the fork.

"Raspberry coffee cake," I explained when he gave me a strange look. "I know you like it and I assume you haven't eaten breakfast yet, so I picked up a few slices when I got your coffee."

"Very thoughtful," he praised, peeking in the tan and green paper bag. "How much was it? I can pay you back," he said, pulling out his wallet.

"It's a gift," I said, denying the money he offered me.

He sighed in defeat and said, "I owe you, Miss-"

"Don't you dare," I warned.

"I owe you, Lillian," he corrected, emptying the bags content onto the plate I'd brought him and picking at the food as he looked over the files.

I watched him for a few moments, a smile gracing my lips. This was a part of Jonathan Crane that I knew he only showed to me, the more human part of him. Granted, he wasn't a basket full of kittens, but he wasn't the ice king either. I prided myself on the fact that I knew what the blue eyed man was like when he wasn't trying to keep up appearances and tried to imagine what he was like when he wasn't working. My smile faltered a bit as I mused on the thought. All of the times I'd been in his home, or walking with him to catch a late dinner after work, I had never seen him _stop _working. He always had his face buried in a new file or fingers clicking furiously across the keyboard of his blackberry. A pain tugged in my chest as I looked closer at him. His hair was slightly unkempt and he had bags under his eyes. I realized he probably hadn't gone home that night.

" Jonathan" I addressed, walking toward his desk. He glanced up at me in acknowledgement for a second before his eyes returned to the file in front of me. "Have you been here all night?"

He nodded at me before taking a sip of his coffee.

_Black coffee with cinnamon and sugar, _I thought. I began gathering up his things, putting them neatly in his brief case. He looked at me questioningly and I replied, "You're going home. You need to sleep and have a proper meal. I will handle your paper work."

"Lillian.." he began to protest, running his hands through his thick chestnut hair.

"No. I've made up my mind, Jonathan. You are going home. Take the day off," I insisted, opening his office closet and retrieving the black, wool trench coat that resided there.

He continued to try to protest, but I ignored him, helping him up and into the trench coat.

"Since when did you become my mother?" he asked, exasperated.

"Since you hired me," I replied, securing his scarf around his neck.

"I may not be an obstetrician, but I don't think you're old enough to be my mother," he said calmly. I had to laugh at his attempt at a joke. I hoped that if I encouraged the playfulness, he wouldn't stop. I liked it when he was happy. It made me happy.

"Eh, you're only four years older than me. I'll catch up," I assured with a cheeky grin.

He allowed me to push him out of his office and lead him to his car. I turned on my heel after I saw that he was safely in the vehicle and walked toward the steel doors of Arkham asylum.

"Lillian!" he called out.

I glanced back at his jet black Mercedes and asked, "Yeah?"

"I'll be back at 9 to pick you up," he replied, and drove off before I could argue. I hated when he did that, but the notion that he cared tickled my fancy, so I ignored my distaste for his trickery. My mood immediately dropped as a memory I'd suppressed for over a month washed over me.

"_ Jonathan," I greeted, entering his office and handing him his coffee._

"_Miss Stanley," he acknowledged, taking the Styrofoam cup from me._

_His fingertips brushed mine ever so slightly and a surge of electricity ran down my spine. I was so irrevocably in love with my boss that it was almost cliché. _

"_How are you?" I asked, straightening up the mess he'd made over the last hour. He arrived at 7am, and I arrived at 8. Most of the time, there was some sort of disaster waiting for me when I entered his office._

"_Under the circumstances, I don't think you'd like that answer Miss Stanley," he replied through gritted teeth, and I could instantly tell Miss Dawes had been here._

"_What did she do this time?" I asked in an understanding tone, taking a seat across from him._

"_She had the audacity to ask me if I was sure of my own mental stability," he replied, dropping his pen and running his hands over his face._

_Realization came over me, and I placed a hand on his own, running my small fingers over his long digits. He didn't like it when people accused him of being insane, or mentally instable, though I wagered he was. I knew more about Jonathan Crane than I should, and there was nothing pretty about his past._

_He suddenly jerked his hand away from me and ordered me out of his office saying, "Stop flirting Miss Stanley, I have higher standards than you."_

Though they were tainted with anger and he apologized several times over, those words would haunt me forever. I sighed, and wiped a few tears from my face. When I re-entered the facility and made my way back to my department, I tried to compose myself, but I hadn't fooled Pamela.

"You got it bad babydoll," the older, African woman sad with a knowing look.

I nodded and wiped at my blotchy face.

"He will come around, Sugar. No one can ignore a girl that takes care of them like you do him," she assured. "Besides, he'd be stupid to pass up a looker like you."

I burst out laughing and gave her a bright smile saying, "Thanks, Pam."

I entered Jonathan's office and sat down at his desk. The pile of paperwork that sat on either side of me intimidated me, but I knew I could do it. I sighed and brought the first document down, this was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fire: Hey guys..I am out of limbo..haha..sowwy(: enjoy the chapter3**

**X0x0x0x0xx0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x 0x0x0x0x0x0x0xx0x0x0x0x0x0x0 x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0X**

The next few weeks went by in a whir, I didn't have much time to talk to Jonathan except for the occasional ride home from work, but even then conversation was short and professional.

It was Monday morning and was nowhere to be found. Over and over again I called his phone, but there was never an answer. It wasn't like him to miss work, in fact, I don't remember him ever missing work.

I paced around his office nervously, having let myself in using the spare key he keeps hidden in the plant left of the entrance. Something caught my eye, an orange bottle of some sort setting on the corner of his large oak desk. Slowly, I made my way over and picked the bottle up. His name and the word Risperdal were printed neatly across the bottles label, as well as what appeared to be a physician's name and an expiration date. My gut churned and a sudden feeling of dread overcame me as I realized what had happened. I knew Jonathan suffered from mild onset schizophrenia as well as anxiety, and if he left these pills here by accident with no access to them God only knows what could have happened to him by now. Grabbing the bottle of pills, I walked out of the office and past Pamela shouting over my shoulder, "I will be back, I am going to check on Jonathan."

I walked down the sidewalk quickly, as if hell itself had opened up and the flames were nipping at my heels. Without looking, I walked across the heavily trafficked street, earning myself several annoyed honks. My heart was racing and I could hear the medication clicking around in my pocket reminding me of my purpose.

When my feet touched the hard cobble stone of his porch I felt a sense of relief. I glanced around and saw that his sleek, black jag was still parked in the driveway. I knocked twice on the dark mahogany door and waited for a few minutes before cautiously turning the door knob. To my surprise, the door opened and I walked calling, "Jonathan!"

Suddenly, I felt a hand clamp over my mouth, and I was dragged into a closet. Once the closet door was shut the hand fell and I asked fiercely, "What the hell? Who the hell are you?"

"It's me Lillian, what are you doing here?" a deep, but familiar voice countered. I turned toward the voice and was met but a broad, bony chest. It was dark in the closet and I could hardly make out his high cheek bones, and full lips, but his icy blue eyes nearly glowed in the dark.

"Jonathan? Why did you attack me? I was coming to check on you, you left your medicine in your office. I came to bring it to you," I questioned and explained all at once, leaving me breathless and confused.

"I didn't attack you, I am saving you. Falcone is here, in my house—"

"Wait, what? Falcone is here, in your house? Why?.." I asked, doubt coating my tone.

"That's not important, what is important is that you need to get out of here," his eyes burned with sincerity, but I could tell that even he didn't believe what he was saying.

"Jonathan.." I sighed, brushing a piece of wild, brunette hair away from his face, "No one is here, you are imagining things. Here, common, let's go sit down on the couch and you can take your medicine and calm down."

I took his hand and led him out of the closet and to his sitting room. He was unwilling and babbling the whole way, but he went without much of a fight. In the back of his mind, I knew he knew that I was right, but something told me that this was the beginning of the end. The last time he had an attack this severe, even un-medicated, was after his mother had died and it took him over a week to recover completely. I filled out his paper work and made any big decisions for him until he got back onto his feet so he wouldn't lose his job or have to take medical leave.

We sat on the couch, his head in my lap, while he suffered out the last of his delusions as the medicine kicked in. He would never let anyone but me see him like this, vulnerable, and I would venture to say hurt.

When he finally spoke to me in a tone that wasn't full of hallucinations and horror his voice was empty.

"I'm losing touch with reality, Lillian…" he said in a tone barely above a whisper.

I felt my chest clench with pity, but I didn't let it show, Jonathan Crane was not one for pity.

I didn't say anything but he continued saying, "Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror and I don't know who I am. I am scared, and lost in my own mind…"

"I can find you.." I whispered back, it was barely audible but he'd heard it.

"Please.." he begged, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly.

"I will…"


End file.
